Whole and Portion
by MissBedouin
Summary: Some shorts and glimpses at members of the Young Justice team currently the young ladies . First up: Artemis, post-Insecurities. A dash of everything.


I don't write poetry, I don't sing, and I don't talk to my mom. About these sorts of things. I guess I mean I don't write poetry about hurt, I don't sing when I have egg on my face, and I don't talk to my mom about my mistakes.

I'm not much of a T.V. person either, and I have a small collection of books that I've secretely read to tatters and ad nauseum. So, I guess I'm not an escapist.

The only thing I could do was sleep in my uniform. Mask and all. Mom came in, subtle as she can be in that forsaken wheelchair, which is another way of saying she woke me up. But I didn't open my eyes. She pulled off my boots first and tried to take off the mask till I pretended to snarl in my sleep. She left me alone then, but then she was just sitting there, thinking who-knows-what. I nearly blew my cover. Then she left, and by that time my mind was so wired I couldn't go back to sleep. I snarled for real this time, almost hoping somebody would hear me.

Where was my self-righteousness? I'd let him rip into me and hadn't said a word. I hadn't even picked a fight with one of the smugglers down by the docks tonight as a cool-off. I hadn't felt like messing with anyone. My energy was gone. The burden of pride was gone, but-I felt emptier, not lighter.

It was easy not to think of him, and I had no trouble avoiding the moment. Usually stupid stuff like that would replay in my head over and over, till I wanted to bang my head against a desk or scream and jump like a banshee-do something even more embarassing to cover whatever humiliation I'd suffered.

But, as I sat up in bed, no song, poem, talk, or undressing left in me, no pride or self-anything, I realized what it was. He was right and I was wrong, and I wasn't the same for it.

That's unfair. I don't want to lose on this-that means I have to give up on anger and immaturity. Yeah, yeah, I'm supposed to want to be a better person. But I don't want to be, I guess. I was fine with being a hero with a sort-of anti-hero edge.

Secretly, I enjoy keeping secrets.

But now-. Oh, here's the bookshelf. Funny that I end up here whenever I want something kept hidden (when I was 7, my biggest secret was the "Artemis Loves Charles Dickens" written on the inside of my _Oliver Twist_).

Truthfully, I hate keeping secrets.

Or, maybe I wish my secrets weren't so bad. Everybody has something they keep to themselves-I hear some people keep the nightmares to themselves and some people keep the good dreams to themselves. All my secrets are nightmares. Except for Charles Dickens.

Okay, but the real issue at hand isn't my secrets or my insomnia. It's that what was said about me was true and I didn't get angry. I didn't get angry but I still can't face the truth. Geez.

I can see his face now. Great. Suddenly I'm itching for target practice. I'm already in my uniform. I'm halfway to my backup bow when the desire leaves me, leaving me lethargic and alone with my thoughts again. This indecisiveness is going to drive me up a wall.

I take a cold shower then. Quickly I make the water warm, steam up the bathroom, and then let the warm water run its course. When it turns to a cold shower again I'm done and I wrap myself up in a towel. I wipe away on the mirror in search of a reflection.

I can see both of them now. Thinking of Kid makes me blush unneccesarily-probably because I'm in a towel-and thinking of old daddio makes me grateful for the mirror fogging up again. But maybe that's all a little dramatic. Dad was right about what he said. It had a ring to it, anyway, and I almost hate him for that.

But the difference is, Wally has a 1 to my dad's 0:

Wally had cared, for a nanosecond. He'd made me feel like a girl-for a nanosecond.

I relive that moment-that nanosecond-instead. I go to bed, still not dressed and still not angry. Maybe the shower did some good in relaxing some pride back into my muscles-I could appreciate my body beneath the towel, beneath the blankets. I wriggled my toes and thought fleetingly of mom. I put my hand under my pillow and thought of Wally. I closed my eyes and tried to forget that my dad had ever been here at all.

_Please, please, I just want to keep one good dream. And in the morning, I'll apolgize to mom-I'll make waffles. Eggs. Bacon. English muffins are good too. Man, I make us sound like gluttons. Like Kid-he seriously almost dug into that entire freakin' cake! I don't care if it was his birthday. And then he had the gull to say the icing was dry. That was my icing he was talking about! I'm a fantastic cook-I do it all the time. But mom say's I'm the best at waffles. Yeah, I'll make waffles in the morning. Sounds good. _


End file.
